


A Detective Without His Deductions

by vortexofdeduction



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Concussions, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, OOC Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 20:04:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 10,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2480702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vortexofdeduction/pseuds/vortexofdeduction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is reckless, as usual, but this time he gets hurt. How will he deal with a severe concussion that strips him of his superior intellect?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"SHERLOCK!" John shouted in desperation. But it was too late. The car had already hit the detective. He lay on the road, unmoving. As John ran over to Sherlock, he saw the driver get out. She saw the concern on his face.

"Is this your friend?" she asked him. John nodded. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I didn't see him coming; he just ran into the road so quickly..."

"It's not your fault. He has no concern for his own personal safety. I knew it would get him in trouble one of these days. I just wish it didn't have to be now. Or ever, really." John looked over at Sherlock, who still hadn't gotten up.

"Is he dead?"

"No, he's just knocked out," John said, feeling Sherlock's pulse.

"Will he be okay?"

"I don't know." John examined Sherlock some more. "He's definitely going to live, but beyond that it's hard to say. I don't see any major external injuries, but he might be injured inside. I'll have to take him to the hospital."

"Are you a doctor?"

"Yes."

"Well I'm really sorry, and I hope your friend's okay, doctor..."

"John Watson."

"So if you're Watson, then..." She gasped. "I just ran over Sherlock Holmes! I am so, so, sorry. I'm going to need some time to deal with the guilt. Again, I'm really sorry. Goodbye, Watson!"

 

"Hello, this is DI Lestrade from Scotland Yard."

"Hi. It's me, John."

"Has Sherlock solved the case yet?"

"About that..."

"What?"

"Well, I think Scotland Yard is going to have to handle this one by itself."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I don't think Sherlock will be able to solve the murder for you very soon, and I don't think I'll be able to either, so you'd better get to work on it."

"Did something happen?"

"Oh, I might as well just say it. Sherlock got hit by a car."

"WHAT?!"

"He was reckless as usual, and... he got hit by a car."

"Is he okay?"

"He's in the hospital. He should be fine, but I really don't know. The doctors didn't let me do a thorough examination of him. I guess they didn't want me to freak out immediately if something was wrong."

"Well, tell him to get better."

"I will, as soon as he wakes up."

"Wakes up? Oh dear."

"Well, let's hope he gets better soon. Good luck solving the crime."


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm sorry, but you can't stay here," the hospital staff said. "Only patients are allowed to stay overnight."

"But..."

"You know the rules. The only exception is if the patient is in critical condition, which your friend Mr. Holmes is not."

"How is he?"

"He doesn't have too many wounds, at least none that we can't fix up easily. But..."

"But what?"

"He's had a severe concussion. We don't know what exactly that means as he still hasn't woken up yet, but there are bound to be some noticeable effects."

"I can't leave him like this!"

"Go back to Baker Street, John. Sherlock will be waiting for you here."

"Well, just let me know when he wakes up," John acquiesced. "I don't care what time it is; I want to know."

 

He walked out slowly, depressed. How could he have done this? How could Sherlock leave John alone? John sat alone in 221B, hating Sherlock for being stupid and getting hurt, and at the same time missing him terribly. Sherlock had only been out for a day. He had been gone for longer than this on cases but this time was different. This time, John was truly concerned about Sherlock.

 

"Has he woken up yet?" John asked, coming in to the hospital.

"No, he's still asleep. Has been since you brought him here."

"Well I guess I'd better get to work."

* * *

 

"Doctor Watson?"

"Yes?"

"Are you even paying attention to your patient?"

"I'm trying to!"

"And failing. Listen, you clearly can't work like this. Take the day off."

"Where's Sherlock?"

"Sherlock, of course. That's why you can't focus. Sorry, I should have thought of that."

"Where is he?"

"Down that hall. It's the third room on the right."

* * *

 

John sat next to Sherlock, who was still asleep. "You complete and utter idiot! You're a total jerk! I hate you! Why did I even consider working with you! I could kill you sometimes!" He turned and saw his coworker sitting next to him. "Oh. Sorry. I wasn't talking to you. I meant Sherlock. Wait. What are you even doing here?"

"Someone's got to watch Sherlock because of the concussion. Somebody's got to be there when he wakes up in case anyone happens."

"Why wasn't I asked?"

"I don't know. Maybe the doctors thought that it would be better for you to focus on other things."

"Well that didn't work out," John said with a rueful smile.

"Obviously." John's face fell. "What did I say?"

"Nothing, it's just... Sherlock said - I mean says; he's still alive - says that a lot."

"Oh."


	3. Chapter 3

John stayed by Sherlock's side all that day. He felt more depressed than ever, but at least he could be with his friend.

"Hey, um... John?"

"Yeah?"

"It's getting late. Shouldn't you be going?"

"I'm not leaving him."

"Well, I guess I can't stop you... I'm supposed to have the night shift for watching him too, but since you're already here-"

"I'll keep an eye on him. You go home and get a good night's rest."

"Thanks, John."

 

At 12AM, John's eyes were beginning to close, at least until he saw Sherlock's eyes open.

"John?"

"Sherlock!"

"I'm right here; you don't need to shout."

"Sorry," he said sheepishly.

"Has Lestrade solved the case yet?"

"Yeah, he wrapped it up a few hours ago."

"Good for him." John was very confused by this remark, but the confusion was replaced with disappointment when Sherlock promptly fell asleep again.

 

Then John saw a note on the table saying "If the patient wakes up, notify hospital staff immediately." John called the number.

"He woke up?"

"Yeah, but there's no need to come over here. He was awake for less than a minute, and he's sound asleep again."

"Did he say or do anything?"

"Not much. Like I said, he was only awake for a short time."

"Can you repeat any conversation you had? It might be helpful for us." John repeated what he and Sherlock had just said. "And was there anything significant about that at all?"

"Nothing, except that normally he would have insulted Lestrade, not complimented him. That's all."

"Goodnight, Watson."

"What?"

"Yes, I knew you switched and even if I hadn't, I would have recognized your voice. I guess I can't stop you. Take tomorrow off, too. In fact, I'll give you leave until he's better. Unless you want to work, of course."

"Thank you very much. I do hope he gets better soon. Or at least stays awake. This waiting is killing me!"


	4. Chapter 4

John sat next to Sherlock, shifting around agitatedly. He was exhausted, yet he couldn't fall asleep. What if Sherlock woke up again? John sat for hours, until finally the silence was interrupted.

"Good morning, John. Is it morning yet?"

"Well, technically, I guess. It's 3AM."

"You look tired."

"I haven't exactly been sleeping well these past few days. In fact, I don't think I've slept at all."

"Has it really been that long?"

"You've been out for quite some time. How do you feel?"

"Tired. Other than that, not too bad. Thanks for asking."

"Hang on, did you just thank me?"

"Everyone deserves to be thanked once in a while, don't you think? Especially you." John didn't quite know how to respond to this unprecedented sentiment from Sherlock.

"I'm just glad you're alive."

"I was quite a jerk back there, wasn't I?"

"A little bit."

"I'm sorry. I should have been more careful, or at least thought about how it might hurt you." Being sentimental and apologizing? John was thoroughly confused.

"Are you sure you're all right, Sherlock?"

"Yes, I feel just fine. Why do you ask?"

"You don't feel the least bit... strange?"

"No. Should I? Are you concerned about me, John? That's very sweet of you, and I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm fine."

"Yes, I am concerned."

"Why?" Sherlock wasn't deducing to figure out the answer. This worried John. He shook the thought away. Perhaps Sherlock was simply being lazy, or maybe he wanted to give John a chance to explain.

"Sherlock... I don't know how to break this to you."

"Just tell me. I'll listen."

"The doctors said you had a severe concussion. I know you haven't been conscious for long, but have you noticed anything different?"

"No, I haven't noticed anything."

"Sherlock, tell me what's happened to me recently. Give me some deductions."

"Um... There's not a lot to see. You're tired. You probably stayed awake a long time because I was asleep. You didn't get much sleep because you worried about me. Um... That's all."

"That's it? Nothing about what I've been doing all day? What specifically I worried about? Nothing?"

"I'm tired, John."

"Right. Sorry."


	5. Chapter 5

John picked up the phone. "Sherlock's awake again... Yeah, he's still awake this time... Okay. See you in a minute." He hung up, and a few minutes later, a doctor walked in. He began to perform a barrage of physical tests on Sherlock.

"Excuse me, but would you mind not doing all this? I have just woken up from a long sleep after being hit by a car. Can't you go a little easy on me please?"

"Sorry, I'm almost done." The doctor finished the tests. "Okay. You're physical condition isn't great, but much better than the average car crash patient, and you should be able to go back to normal activities very soon. However, you did have a severe concussion. Dr. Watson, did you notice anything wrong that could have been related to a concussion?"

"Well, he did seem a bit...different. He's definitely had a personality change, and I suppose that could be related to the concussion." The doctor nodded. "Also, would you mind doing an IQ test?" Sherlock glared.

 

"Just so we have a comparison, what was your IQ before?" the doctor asked.

"180." The doctor raised an eyebrow at that.

"Well, he is Sherlock Holmes," John pointed out. Sherlock took the test, and the doctor did a double-take at the results.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked.

"Your concussion was very severe. It must have affected your brain functions..."

"Just tell us!" John said, getting impatient.

"Your IQ, Sherlock... It's dropped to 130." Sherlock gasped and looked like he was on the verge of tears.

"I'm an idiot!"

"No, Sherlock, 130 is considered above average... you're just not a genius anymore." Sherlock began sobbing hysterically. This was so unusual it made John very uncomfortable.

"I can't... be... normal... please! Without my brain, what am I?"

 

"You're Sherlock Holmes," John said. "I don't care if you're the most boring person ever, the stupidest person in London, even the biggest idiot in the whole world, you'll always be Sherlock Holmes. And that's amazing just by itself. Even without your intelligence and with a slightly different personality, you're really the same person inside. You're brave, persistent, kind more often than you like to admit, and trustworthy. Right from when I met you, I saw that you knew everything about me, but I also saw that that knowledge was safe in your hands. Whatever you are, Sherlock, you will always be honorable, and you will always be my friend." By the time John had finished speaking, Sherlock was no longer crying. Instead, a weak but hopeful smile crept across his face.


	6. Chapter 6

"You have a visitor, Sherlock," John, who had finally been allowed to be the doctor in charge of Sherlock said. Just as Sherlock asked who was visiting him, Molly Hooper walked in.

"Hi, Sherlock. I'm Molly Hooper. You do remember me, right?" He nodded. "Good. I wasn't sure. They said you had brain damage."

"Yes, but all my memories are intact."

"Well that's a relief."

"You came here out of your busy workday to see me?"

"When John called to say neither of you would be coming to help Scotland Yard for an indeterminate amount of time, I got worried. Lestrade would have gone, but he's busy, especially without your help."

"Well, I'm very glad you decided to make a visit."

"You're welcome... Wait, did you just complement me? You really have changed." Sherlock sighed.

"Is this what it's like to be normal?"

"What?"

"Complimenting people."

"Yeah, people compliment each other all the time."

"Oh."

"So, why are you still in the hospital? You seem fine to me."

"The doctors want to give him a last check up before they release him," John said before Sherlock could give an answer.

"Okay then. So does that mean we'll be seeing you back at work soon?"

"Yes" Sherlock said just as John said "No".

"Sorry, what?"

"Sherlock-"

"I can speak for myself, thank you very much," Sherlock interrupted. "Sorry, didn't mean to be rude. Anyway, I hope to be working on cases again soon." John knew this was very unlikely, but he said nothing. Sherlock clearly refused to be reminded of the sad truth.


	7. Chapter 7

"Oh, Sherlock! How nice to see you!" Mrs. Hudson gave Sherlock a huge hug as he and John walked into 221B again.

"It's a pleasure to see you too, Mrs. Hudson. Would you be so kind as to make me a cup of tea?"

"Ooh, you're all polite, too! Of course I'll make you tea, Sherlock." She went to set the kettle on. "So what's kept you boys away from Baker Street for so long?"

"We had a case, and it kept us very busy," John answered quickly. He couldn't bear to break the news to her. Not just yet.

"Oh you poor boys; you must be exhausted! I just finished making your tea, so I'll leave now and let you get some rest."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. You really are an invaluable landlady, even if you aren't a housekeeper."

 

John and Sherlock sat down on the couch, despondent. Then, the bell rang. They froze. "What are you going to do?" John asked.

"I suppose I'll just have to see what I can do. Let her in." A young woman walked in, looking extremely distressed. She saw Sherlock and relaxed a little.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're here. Can you help me?"

"Possibly. What seems to be the nature of your problem?"

"I've lost my husband. I don't know where he went. He just left one night and didn't come back! I mean, we didn't have a bad relationship or anything. I just thought he was going out with friends for a short time, but he didn't come back! He's been missing for days!"

"I see. John, would you be so kind as to continue to talk to my client while I go up into my room? I shall require the use of my mind palace."

 

Sherlock came back down a few minutes later. He looked profoundly disturbed.

"What did you find out?" John asked.

"Your husband is dead. He was kidnapped as soon as he left the house by a close family member. The murderer was very careful and you likely won't find a body. I'm very sorry." The woman left sadly, but Sherlock's face remained white.

"What is it?" John asked again.

"My mind palace..."

"Yes, what about it?"

"I couldn't get to my mind palace, John. I only got lucky with that woman because I was able to research her. I couldn't use my mind palace! Why? Why must this happen to me? It can't be like this! Please, John! Please, do something! Make it stop."

"Oh, Sherlock, if only I could," John said ruefully, as Sherlock began to cry into his shoulder.


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock sighed. "Now what?" John asked. Sherlock gave him a look as if it should be obvious. "Yes, that's been true for a few days now, what's different?"

"I have to get a job." "What do you mean? I make enough money. We're fine."

"I can't sit around all day doing nothing. I'm BORED, John! I can't live like this. And besides, I get the impression that Mrs. Hudson will kick me out if I don't get a job soon."

"Well, what are you going to do? You already decided you're no longer fit to be a consulting detective."

"I'll think of something."

* * *

 

Sherlock stood as the nauseating smell of grease and fast food wafted in. He looked back at what he was doing and almost jumped back in shock. The boss came over to look at him and frowned with severe displeasure.

"That's the third burger you've burnt today. You need to work harder than that!"

"Well you know what? I QUIT!" Sherlock shouted, slamming his spatula on the counter in frustration. "I can't do well on an IQ test, I can't be a detective, I can't even cook a hamburger! I'm tired of being useless! I hate this all! I'm out of here!" He stormed out the door.

* * *

 

"So, how was... Oh. I see," John said as Sherlock stomped in through the door. They said nothing for a long time. Finally, John broke the silence. "So now what are you going to do?"

"Now, John, it is time for what I believe is called a 'Plan B'."


	9. Chapter 9

John and Sherlock stepped into the hospital.

"Has something happened? Do we need to take him in again?" the receptionist asked.

"No," John said. "he's fine."

"Actually, I've come to... to ask about work opportunities." The receptionist stared at him.

"Well, I suppose you would have to talk to Dr. Watson's boss." They did just that, and finally the boss decided that yes, Sherlock could be a nurse at the hospital, on the condition that he was John's apprentice, so that John could keep an eye on him.

 

"Oh, good. We've got something easy to start with. Just a routine checkup. I'll show you how to check the ears, so I'll do the right and you can do the left." Sherlock watched and emulated. "Good. Now we need to check the heart. I'm guessing you've seen doctors use a stethoscope many times before. Why don't you give it a try, Sherlock?"

"Sherlock?" the patient asked. "As in Sherlock Holmes?"

"That's me," he said, taking the stethoscope and putting it on the patient's heart.

"Um, John?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"I don't think it's supposed to be beating this fast." John took the stethoscope and listened.

"You're right, this is a little fast. He must have gotten excited at meeting Sherlock Holmes. We'll wait a little bit for him to calm down." In the meantime, they checked his eyes, mouth, reflexes, and all the other things doctors check for. Finally they checked the heart, once the patient had calmed down. "I am pleased to report that you are in good health. Now please go to the receptionist and make the appointment for your next check up," John said.

"Well, I can certainly do this," Sherlock noted.

"That was an easy one. There's a bit more to this job."

"Oh."

 

As if to prove his point, a haggard, tired man walked in. "I feel just fine, but my wife says I'm sick. She told me I had to see the doctor, but I told her-" he paused, and John grabbed a bucket and put it in front of him just in time to catch the vomit.

"How did you know?" Sherlock asked.

"Years of practice. Trust me, I learned the hard way." They did many of the same check ups they had done on the first man, but this time things were complicated by the patient's intermittent vomiting. Finally, the diagnosis was made and the patient left.

 

The next patient was bleeding profusely on the head. She looked at Sherlock and began talking to him. "Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?"

"Um, no..." he answered uncomfortably.

"Well I think you are absolutely fabulous."

"Um... thank you?"

"And it's so good to see you again, my love."

"See me again?"

"Yes, after that awful car accident, I thought I'd never see you."

"Right..."

"The doctors said you wouldn't live."

"I see."

"Then I went to your funeral."

"Excuse me, madam, but I think you've got the wrong person."

"And you came back! Oh, my darling husband, I've missed you so!" John finished bandaging up the woman's head.

"You've had a severe concussion, and I think it's time you got some rest. You need to let your body heal."

"But my husband..."

"You'll see him in the morning, don't worry." She sighed and let John lead her out.

 

"Sorry about that," John said. "Sometimes the patients get a little... weird. Especially the concussion patients."

"Did I do anything like that?" Sherlock asked, afraid to hear the answer.

"No, you must have slept through that phase."

"Thank goodness." John looked at his list of appointments.

"The next patient is..."

"No."

"What?"

"No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"I'm sorry, John, but I can't do this anymore. I just can't. I'll have to find something else."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Goodbye, John." Sherlock walked out slowly, his melancholy clearly evident.


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock was sitting on the couch, wallowing in self pity when the doorbell rang. He slowly walked to the door and opened it. Mycroft stepped in. They sat down to a cup of tea.

"It has come to my attention that you are no longer a consulting detective, or at least no longer taking cases."

"Yes. Your point is?"

"Why?"

"It doesn't matter. I was bored with consulting. I wanted something new."

"I don't believe you. Tell me really, why aren't you consulting?"

"We both know you're a genius. Figure it out yourself. Haven't you already seen?"

"I've trained myself not to look until I need to." They sat in silence and sipped their tea for a few more minutes. Then Mycroft spoke again. "Do you want to play deductions?"

"No."

"Well I want to know, so I'm going to play by myself."

"Go ahead."

 

"Your face looks sad and dejected, you walked more slowly to the door than usual, and you have a general air of melancholy about you, suggesting that something unfortunate has happened recently I make you sad. If it was a murder or other crime, you would be busy solving it. If it was a death of someone close to you, you would have shut me out, wanting to be alone in your sorrows. If it was rejection, you would be angry and busy plotting your revenge. Therefore, I must conclude that something has happened to you personally.

You've put away all your books and studies, which seems especially odd to me, as you value your literacy. I know you've boasted many times of how it has aided you in a case. And that's another thing: you aren't taking any cases. That suggests that either this stroke of misfortune has made you so dejected that even a case can't make you feel better, or it has somehow made you unwilling or unable to take a case anymore. I have difficulty believing that anything would be so severe as to keep you from taking any case, so I am inclined to think it's the latter. So the question is: what made you unwilling or unable to take cases?

Hm... You said 'no' when I asked if you wanted to play deductions, when normally you'd jump at the opportunity. You didn't tell me, either now or earlier, what was wrong. Perhaps it was too embarrassing? Yes, I think that's it. But what would be so embarrassing? Hm... Intermittently, you've been rubbing your head, as if you had a headache. You look healthy otherwise, so it seems unlikely that you have the flu or another illness... A headache is a sign of a concussion. Hm... concussion + no longer able to take cases + embarrassment... You've lost your intelligence! You had a concussion, and now you're reduced to being average."

"An IQ of 130 is technically still above average."

"Oh... I was right. I'm sorry, Sherlock. Is there anything I can do?"

"Not really. Just let me wallow in self pity a little longer. Maybe I'll think of something."

"If you do, give me a call. Goodbye, Sherlock. Good luck!"

"I'll need it," Sherlock whispered to himself as Mycroft left.


	11. Chapter 11

John walked in the door. "Hello, Sherlock."

"Hello, John. How was your day at work?"

"Typical. And now you know what typical is for me." Sherlock sighed. "What are you going to do now?"

"Well, I've been thinking about writing a book."

"Really? What are you going to call it?"

"I don't know. Maybe 'How I Lost My Mind'."

"So what, an autobiography?"

"Yeah."

"Go for it." And so began the autobiography of Sherlock Holmes.

 

"Hello, dear reader. I'm pleased to see you have decided to pick up my book. My name is Sherlock Holmes. You've probably heard of me before, but just in case you haven't, I'm a consulting detective. Well, I was. I was a genius. Scotland Yard was always asking me for help, and people would flock to me and ask for my help in solving a case. Everyone wanted my autograph. I was a hero. My flat mate and associate in solving crimes, Dr. John Watson, was proud of me and glad to work with me, but was always berating me about my recklessness. He said my lack of regard for my own safety would get me into trouble one day. I told him I'd be fine. And that's what I thought. Until I got hit by a car.

"Yes, you read those lines correctly. I got hit by a car. I was pursuing a criminal and didn't pay attention to where I was going, and I got hit by a car. A few days later, I woke to see my trusty assistant, John, leaning over me with concern. I didn't know what had happened or really have time to think much at all, as I stayed awake for less than a minute. The next time I woke up, I began to get the details of what had happened to me, and the doctor came to see me. That's when I got the news: I had had a severe concussion.  _I don't notice anything wrong_ , I thought.  _I'll be fine_. John had noticed a personality change; I was no longer acting like a jerk.  _So I changed a little_ , I thought.  _That's kind of annoying, but I'll be fine_.

"But then I got the news that changed my life forever: the results of an IQ test. Before, I had the IQ of a genius, 180. I impatiently awaited the results of my IQ test. 130. That was my IQ. 130. Many people would be happy to receive a score of 130. It is, after all, above average. Not me. To me, it meant I was an idiot. I quit my job as a consulting detective and decided it was time to have an average job, as my (slightly more than) average intellect seemed to dictate. I couldn't find anything that satisfied me. Then I began writing a book. And that, dear reader, is how I come to be telling my story to you."

 

"How's the book coming?" John asked.

"All right, I suppose. I feel strange writing a book about all this, though."

"What do you mean?"

"It cements the reality and reminds me of what's already happened."

"Well, it's not like it's going to change."

"John?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Why do you still stay with me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm hardly a good source of income to help you pay for the flat any more."

"I think we've moved beyond just flat mates, Sherlock."

"So what? You care about me?"

"Yes."

"But you could easily care about me from a distance. You don't have to stay with me. So why do you?"

"Because I'm not going to leave you."

 

"John, are you trying to say... you love me?"

"No, no, no. Not at all."

"You don't care about me?"

"No, I do!" He sighed. "What I'm trying to say is... I care about you, I enjoy being with you, I worry about you, I'd trust you to the end of the earth, I'd do almost anything for you... but I'm not having sex with you if that's what you mean."

"Then I still don't get it. Why do you stay?"

"Isn't friendship enough? I know you're hurting right now, and you're going through what must be truly awful. I'm not going to abandon you in the midst of that; I'm going to stand by you. It's what friends do."

"Thank you, John, for being my friend."


	12. Chapter 12

Anderson was sitting alone in his room when there came a knock at his door. He walked to the door bewilderedly, wondering who on earth would ever want to talk to him. After Sherlock branded him as an incompetent imbecile, Anderson had become something of a social outcast. Anderson opened the door to see... Sherlock.

"Hello?" Anderson said, looking as if he expected Sherlock to say "sorry, wrong house," and walk away any moment.

"May I come in?" Okay, so he did have the right house. But why on earth would Sherlock want to talk to Anderson? It was quite a puzzle.

"What brings you here? I thought you hated me."

"Yes, I've come to talk about you. No, don't worry. I'm not here to insult you or threaten you. I'm here to apologize." The great Sherlock Holmes, apologizing? What was going on?

"What for?"

"I'm sorry for being rude to you and insulting you and saying you didn't matter. I'm sorry I said you were stupid."

"Why?"

"Because now I know how it feels."

"What are you talking about?"

"You haven't heard yet?"

"Heard what?"

"I got hit by a car and had a severe concussion. I'm only average intelligence now."

"Really?"

"Yes, now all those rude comments and insults about people's intelligence are coming back to bite me."

"And you took the time to apologize?"

"I'm a changed man, Anderson."

"I'm impressed, Sherlock."

 

"Anderson?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Putting up with me. I must have been awful to work with."

"You were a little... difficult."

"Well, I promise if we ever get to working together again, I won't be like that."

"That's good." He smiled.

"What?"

"I was wondering if you would ever act like a genuine human being. It's too bad it took a car crash to make you change." Sherlock nodded and sighed in agreement. "Goodbye, Sherlock."

"Goodbye, Anderson." He walked out the door slowly, wondering what to make of his life.


	13. Chapter 13

Sherlock's legs dangled off the couch that was far too short for him.

"So, tell me: what seems to be the problem?" the psychiatrist asked.

"I've had a concussion, and I'm far less clever than I was before."

"Okay, but I don't see why you'd come to me for that."

"I've had difficulty dealing with the emotional trauma."

"Tell me more."

"I feel guilty for being reckless and getting hurt, angry that I can't be what I once was, sad that I've lost my potential... I'm a hot mess."

"Now, then..." he looked at his notepad "Sherlock. Don't call yourself a hot mess. You'll need to have some self respect if you ever want to feel better." Sherlock sighed. "Now then, can you tell me of any other significant emotional factors? What do the people you know have to say about this?"

"John, my friend is very supportive. Other people feel pity for me. Lestrade (I worked for him as a consulting detective, but I can't anymore) is concerned about me. I haven't told him yet."

"And what do you think of the fact that other people pity you?"

"I don't like it one bit. I don't want their pity; I want to be self-sufficient."

"And since the accident, you feel..."

"Useless."

"I see. Now..."

"May I see your sketch?"

"Sorry, what?"

"You're not writing notes, you're drawing. I can tell from the way you move the pencil." The psychiatrist sighed and showed a sketch of Sherlock in a thinking pose, his hands steepled and his brow furrowed in concentration. "I quite like it."

"You could tell it was a sketch just by watching my pencil?"

"Yes." He looked incredibly sad.

"What is it?"

"I used to be able to do that sort of thing all the time. Now the ability is lost. Except apparently it breaks through every once in a while."

"Fascinating."

"Easy for you to say. You don't have to live with it. You don't have to wake up every day, thinking of what you were... and remembering you will never be that again. You don't have to look at someone and remember all the things about them you would have been able to see at a glance, that are now blocked off forever. You don't have to try and look up information stored in a Mind Palace, only to realize that the key is lost. You don't have to read a crossword puzzle and cry at how it takes you ten times as long to solve. You don't have to feel horrible at the way you were unemotional before and now are an emotional wreck. You don't have to be plunged into despair over how you've changed forever."


	14. Chapter 14

Molly's phone began to ring. She wondered who on earth would be calling her. She got so few calls she almost forgot she had a phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Molly."

"Sherlock? Is that you?"

"Yep. Hello!"

"What are you calling me for?"

"Well I was, um... wondering if you'd like to..."

"Solve a crime?" Molly suggested.

"Have lunch." Sherlock said at the same time. They laughed. "How about we have lunch first, and then we can talk about that."

"That sounds brilliant."

"All right. Meet me at that fish and chips place near St. Bart's."

"Great! See you soon!" Molly hung up, breathless. This couldn't be happening. Sherlock had asked her to lunch! Her, Molly Hooper! She felt herself begin to blush. Elated, she got in her car to go to the restaurant.

 

When she got there, she saw that Sherlock was already sitting at a table, waiting for her.

"I hope you haven't been waiting long," she said, sliding into the seat across from him.

"Not at all."

"Good. So what brings you here?"

"Good food, decent service. The same thing that brings anyone to a restaurant."

"No, I mean why did you ask me out to lunch? You've rejected me every time I've asked before."

"I'm not entirely sure. Ever since... you know, I've felt different. I figured the least I could do was take you to lunch."

"Well thank you, that's very kind of you."

"You're welcome."

 

"So, how are you?" Sherlock cringed.

"Not good." He began to bury his face in his hands. "Not good at all." Unsure what to do, Molly placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't be too hard on yourself. It's not your fault."

"But it is. If I had only paid more attention..."

"Stop it."

"But..."

"Just stop it. It's over, and you can't change it."

"I suppose not." He sighed heavily. "How are things going for you?"

"Not too bad, but without you, we're moving at a much slower pace." Sherlock cringed.

"Sorry."

"Lestrade thinks you're mad at him."

"Why would I be mad?"

"Well, you were working on a case he gave you when you got hurt. And you've stopped taking cases."

"No, no, I'm not mad at him. It has nothing to do with him."

"Then what is it? Why did you stop?" Sherlock sighed and his eyes began to well up. "Is it really that bad? What happened?" He sniffed loudly.

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Yes, I suppose. Why would I need to?"

"Oh, it's just that I don't want many people to know, and I certainly don't want the press to hear about it."

"I can keep a secret. Go on."

"Well, in the crash I got a concussion, and..."

"What?"

"My IQ dropped. I'm no longer special."

"What is it now?"

"It went from 180 to 130."

"I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do."

"I don't think there is."

"Well I want you to know, I'm here for you. You can count on me."

"Thank you, Molly."

"You come to me if you ever need anything, okay?"

"Of course." He paused. "Actually, now that I think about it..."

"What?"

"Ever since I've stopped consulting, I've been looking for a job. What's it like at the morgue?"

"Well, it's not too bad, but you have to be dead serious." Sherlock chuckled at that. "But no, working with cadavers isn't too hard. It might suit you well, I don't know. You have a science background, right?"

"Yes."

"Good. That should help." She thought for a moment. "Did you want to start on that now?"

"That would be great. As long as you're not too busy."

"No, I'm fine. Shall we go now?"

"Sure."

"And Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"Remember what I said. If you need anything, anything at all, just let me know."


	15. Chapter 15

"Molly?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"I can't do this anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"This job isn't for me. I need to keep looking."

"So you're leaving me?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I need some time to cool off first."

"Dinner?"

"Okay. You choose the place."

"I'll text you."

"Great. Bye!"

"Goodbye, Sherlock!" Molly sighed. Working with Sherlock had been amazing. Too bad it was only for a few days.

 

This time Molly was the first to arrive at the restaurant. "Table for two, please." The man raised an eyebrow. "No, it's not a date. Just a friend."

"Right. Table for Molly and 'friend' coming up." Just as Molly sat down, Sherlock walked over to join her. "Quite a 'friend' you've got there," the waiter commented. He looked at Sherlock. "Wait a minute, I thought you were already with John?"

"No, no, no... we're not... we're not a couple."

"So then this  _is_  a date?"

"No, we're just friends."

"Fine, you don't want to talk about it. I understand. I'll leave you to your 'business'."

 

"Sorry about that." Molly said when the waiter had left. "He knows me pretty well since I come here often, and he likes to tease me. But the food's good."

"We'll see about that."

"So, you don't want to take cases anymore, you don't want to work with me, what do you want to do?"

"I don't know."

"You need to find something."

"I will."

"Soon. Sherlock, what have you been doing with your life since the crash?"

"Wandering around aimlessly, trying to find purpose."

"You can't keep doing that."

"I know."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know." He sighed.

"Now what?"

"It's really frustrating, because solving a case would break this melancholy perfectly, and that's the one thing I can't do."

"Just try it. Just because you're not as smart doesn't mean you can't try."

"Lestrade wouldn't want me."

"Come on, we both know that's not true."

"I can't do it. Not with such a low IQ. I'd need my Mind Palace at least."

"You don't have your Mind Palace?"

"No. I mean, it's still there, but it's locked."

"Locked?"

"Yes, I need to find the key." He thought for a minute. "The key... I need to find the key... that's it!"

"What's it?"

"I need a key! I've got it, Molly!"

"Well alright then."

"I've got to go. I'm going to get a key!"

"Okay, bye." Molly said, utterly bewildered. Sherlock could be so cryptic sometimes.


	16. Chapter 16

Sherlock walked into the hardware store.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, where might I apply for a job?"

"Right this way," the employee said, showing Sherlock to the place where he filled out his application and was interviewed. He got the job without too much difficulty.

"Oh, um... one thing..."

"Yes, Mr. Holmes?"

"I know this sounds really strange..."

"Go on, I'll listen."

"Can I be payed in keys?"

"Keys?"

"Yes. However many is equivalent to the money I would be receiving. And each one would be different, of course."

"I see. Well, I suppose that could be arranged. But it sounds like you just have a lock you need to find a key for. We can help you out if you just show us the lock."

"I'm afraid that would be... exceedingly difficult," Sherlock replied with a sigh.

"Suit yourself."

* * *

 

John Watson walked into his flat to see Sherlock sticking a key in to his ear. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he retorted.

"Sticking a key in your ear."

"Yes. Brilliant observation, John."

"But why?"

"I'm trying to unlock my Mind Palace."

"You're trying to unlock your Mind Palace."

"Yes John, do try to keep up."

"And you think sticking a key in your ear will help?"

"It's locked. I need a key." He took the key out of his ear. "This is a key."

"You know what, I'm not even going to try arguing with you. Just go on sticking a key into your body. See what I care."

"Very well then," Sherlock said, sticking the key into his other ear.

"The things I put up with..." John muttered as he walked off.

 

Sherlock's phone beeped. It was a text from Molly.

_How did your plan for getting a key go? - MH_

_I've been sticking keys in my ear. - SH_

_Very funny. -MH_

_..._

_Wait, you're serious? - MH_

_John thinks I've gone crazy. - SH_

_I don't blame him. - MH_

_You don't think I'm crazy, do you? - SH_

_Of course not. But I am confused. Why are you doing it? - MH_

_I need to unlock my Mind Palace. I'm trying out different keys. - SH_

_Did it ever occur to you that since your Mind Palace isn't physical that maybe the key isn't physical, either? - HM_

_Oh. - SH_

_Yeah. - MH_

_What would I do without you? - SH_

_I don't know. Let's not find out. - MH_

_:)_

_Wow, you're using an emoticon? You really have changed. - MH_

_I suppose so. Anyway, you've given me something new to puzzle over. I shall have to think about it. ttyl - SH_

_Text talk, too? Wow. Bye! - MH_


	17. Chapter 17

"Ah yes, good to see you again." said the psychiatrist.

"Are you going to draw another sketch?"

"What?"

"Like you did last week."

"I suppose. I haven't found note taking to be that useful, especially as many of my clients require our information to be confidential, so I have to burn the notes anyway."

"Great."

"So how has your week been?"

"Awful."

"You're taking this all very hard, aren't you?"

"If I was doing fine, I wouldn't be here."

"I suppose not. So what's been bothering you?"

"I can't access my Mind Palace."

"Your Mind Palace? Do elaborate, please."

"I have a... place in my head. I call it my Mind Palace. I use it to store information, make deductions, etc. It's essential to my work as a consulting detective. Without it, especially when my IQ is much lower, I am useless."

"Now, now, remember what I said about that. No negative self-talk. You need to keep up your self-esteem."

"Easy for you to say." Sherlock muttered.

 

"So without your Mind Palace, you've been feeling frustrated."

"That's an understatement." He sighed and sank down into his chair. "I don't suppose you know how to get it back?"

"Hm..."

"I've been looking for the key, but I can't find anything."

"I see."

"Have you ever had anything like that happen before?"

"Well, a number of my previous clients have had an issue similar to yours. They had memories or abilities locked away that they wanted to get to."

"And what happened?"

"Some of them are still looking. But many of them just needed a trigger."

"A trigger?"

"Yes. A specific sound, sight, smell, word, feeling... just about anything could trigger the memory. And then it all comes back."

"So all I need to do is find a key?" He perked up at this.

"Yes."

"And do you have any idea how I would find such a key?"

"I don't know. Trial and error, I suppose."

"That's not very helpful."

"Sorry. I'm good at almost any other psychological problem, but recessed memories are not my forte."

 

"How's the sketch coming?" The psychiatrist showed him the notepad. It depicted Sherlock deep in thought, his eyes closed. Above him, there was a thought bubble. Inside the bubble was a drawing of a large palace with beautiful hallways and grand architecture. In front of the door was an intricate system of locks. The door was firmly closed and locked, with the key nowhere to be found.

"I know it's not much..."

"It's brilliant! You should have become an artist."

"I actually do a bit of that in my free time."

"If only it was as simple as drawing in a key."

"That would make both our lives much easier."

"Yes. Well, I must go. I've a key to find."


	18. Chapter 18

The doorbell rang. Sherlock went to answer it, his step more slow than it had been in the past. "Oh hello, Lestrade!"

"Hello, Sherlock. May I come in?" Sherlock let Lestrade come in and sit down. "What's up." Lestrade didn't say it as a greeting or even a question; it was more of a demand.

"Oh, nothing much." he replied evasively, shaking his hand as if to shoo away the idea.

"If it's nothing much, why aren't you working with me anymore? Did you just get bored of me?"

"No, I just got bored of Anderson's face."

"Oh really? He told me you came to apologize."

"... I just don't want to work with you anymore."

"Why not? Are you mad at me?" Lestrade looked Sherlock hard in the eye.

"No. I'm not mad at you."

"Then what is going on?" Lestrade yelled, frustrated.

"I just don't want to take any more cases, okay?"

"No! That's not okay!" Lestrade stood up, waving his arms to emphasize each sentence. "What is wrong with you, Sherlock! Something is going on that you're not telling me. Why aren't you telling me? I want to know! Stop keeping secrets from me! What is going on?" Sherlock began to cry. "Sherlock? Sherlock, are you okay?"

"No. You just said as much yourself."

"What's wrong?" Sherlock said nothing. "What's going on?"

"I don't want to talk about it." He placed his head in his hands and closed his eyes.

"Just tell me."

"I said, I don't want to talk about it!" Sherlock's head snapped up and he gave Lestrade a warning glare.

"Please." Sherlock cried even harder. "Please, I'm asking you, just tell me what's going on."

"Please, I'm asking you, just leave me alone."

"No. I'm not leaving until I find out the truth." Lestrade crossed his arms. Then his expression softened. "Tell me, what's going on?"

"Please, can't you just let me be? Why does it matter to you?"

"I'm concerned about you. I want to know what's going on."

"It's not like I'm working for you anymore."

"Exactly. You quit the job you love and refuse to explain. I really want to know what's going on."

"And I really don't want to tell you."

"I DEMAND TO KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON!" Lestrade slammed his fist on the table.

"AND I REFUSE TO ANSWER!" Sherlock slammed his fist even harder.

"Please, Sherlock, I implore you: tell me what's wrong." Sherlock sighed.

"No."

"Is it something about the hospital? It is! It's something that happened at the hospital, isn't it?"

"Well, sort of... I suppose." He turned away, wishing Lestrade would just get the message and leave.

"Just tell me."

"Please, no."

"I promise not to judge."

"You promise you won't think any less of me?" Sherlock slowly, carefully lifted his head.

"I promise. Now, please just tell me what's wrong."

 

"I... well... I got hit by a car. You know that."

"Yes, go on."

"And I had a concussion."

"So..."

"My IQ dropped. It went from 180 to 130."

"Oh. But you're still Sherlock. You can still do all your great detective stuff."

"Lestrade?"

"Yes?"

"My Mind Palace is gone." Sherlock began crying again. Lestrade didn't know how to respond to this unprecedented emotion.

"Oh."

"It's where I kept all my information, put things together to make deductions, and so on. It's technically not gone, but it's locked. Without it, I can't do anything."

"You're still great." Sherlock shook his head.

"Not great anymore. Maybe good. Even that's pushing it."

"I'd still take you. If you want."

"No. I can't."

"Why not?"

"I just... can't."

"You sure?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, Lestrade, but I just can't do it anymore."

"Goodbye." Lestrade said sadly. He slowly walked away.


	19. Chapter 19

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"I'm having dinner."

"Okay."

"Will you be joining me?"

"No."

"You need to eat, Sherlock."

"I'm not hungry."

"I don't care. You still need to eat."

"You can't make me."

"No, I suppose not. Just... take care of yourself. And if you change your mind..."

"I don't think there's much chance of that happening."

"If you change your mind, I'll be in the dining room."

 

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Is that... cocaine?"

"Yes."

"But Sherlock, you were doing so well. You can't give that up now."

"Obviously I can."

"But you were drug-free for so long."

"Nicotine patches just aren't enough anymore. I need something stronger to bury my sorrows."

"But cocaine? You know that's bad for you."

"I don't care, John. I need it."

"Please, Sherlock."

"You can't stop me."

"Just... please."

"I'm sorry, John."


	20. Chapter 20

Sherlock was in the hospital. Again. "How is he this time?" John asked the doctor.

"He's in a coma."

"Oh no."

"I'm sorry, but cocaine overdose is very serious."

"I tried to talk him out of it."

"Talk isn't enough. You're a doctor, you should know that." John began to cry.

"I suppose there's nothing I can do. I'll have to go home again, won't I?"

"Actually..."

"What?"

"This time, he is in critical condition. You're allowed to stay with him, if you want."

"Where's his room?"

"Right this way."

* * *

"Sherlock? I know you can't hear me, but I'm going to talk to you, okay? The doctors said you might not make it out alive. So I'm going to say all the things I should have said while you were conscious. And I'm sorry I'm so late in saying them. I hope you'll forgive me. First of all, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not watching out for you better. Friends should have each other's backs, and I didn't have yours. At least, not well enough. I wish I could go back in time and save you. The world needs you. But forget about the world. It's depressing and cruel, abandoning you the moment your ability leaves. The world needs you the way you were before. But you know what? I need you. I need you with me. And I don't care if you're smart or not. I don't care if you have your Mind Palace or not. I just want you. Wait... no. Not like that. I just want you as a friend. I know people keep thinking we're a couple, but the truth is, you're my best friend ever. I don't know how I could ever live without you. I would give up anything to make you happy. I would give up anything to bring you back. Please, Sherlock. One more miracle. Don't. Be. Dead." His voice cracked on the last word.

"If you insist." Sherlock said. Then he promptly fell back into the coma.

"Sherlock? SHERLOCK!" It was no use. Sherlock was out.

* * *

"Hello, Sherlock? It's me, Molly. Yes, Molly Hooper. I know you probably barely even realize I exist, but I'm here. I know you can't hear me. I suppose that's the best time to say something I don't know you'd ever let me say. Sherlock... I... I... Oh, I don't know if I can say it. Who am I kidding, you wouldn't ever let me say it. You wouldn't care and probably wouldn't know how to react. So I may as well just say it now. Here goes. Sherlock, I love you."

* * *

"Hey, Sherlock. It's Lestrade. I'm sorry for yelling at you the other day. I was just concerned about you. And I'm even more concerned about you now, though in this case shouting would get me nowhere. So I just wanted to apologize, and please ask you to consider consulting again. Scotland Yard is lost without you."

* * *

"Sherlock? Guess who? It's me, Moriarty. Don't ask how I got past security. The point is, I've come to tell you it's time to get up already. Without you, London is so boring! I do crimes and nobody has the least chance of catching me. That's fun for a while, but now I want you back. Please. Come stop me."

Through all this, Sherlock lay silently, unmoving, his eyes closed.


	21. Chapter 21

Sherlock felt different. He couldn't wake up. It was strange. He was in... a hospital bed? Yes, it felt like a hospital bed. What had he done now? Oh of course, the cocaine. He must have overdosed. He heard footsteps. It sounded like John, but he couldn't be sure without opening his eyes. He tried, but they seemed to be glued shut. He heard someone speak, and then he knew it was John.

"Sherlock?"  _Yes, I'm right here_ , he thought. "I know you can't hear me." Oh, but he could. If only he could respond. He listened through John's heartwarming speech, wishing he could just wake up. "Don't. Be. Dead." Then all of a sudden, as if responding to John's words, Sherlock's body began obeying his commands and he woke up.

"If you insist." But alas, the moment couldn't last. He slipped back into the coma.

* * *

Someone else was coming. It was... "It's me, Molly." Sherlock wanted to say hi back, but he was trapped in his stupid body with his stupid intellect in this stupid hospital. The agony of it all! "I know you probably barely even realize I exist."  _That's not true. I need you more than I admit to_. "Who am I kidding, you wouldn't ever let me say it."  _Really? Try me_. "You wouldn't care and probably wouldn't know how to react."  _I suppose that's fair_. "So I may as well just say it now." Go on, then. "Sherlock, I love you."  _You were right, I don't know how to respond. I suppose I don't have to, since I'm in a coma._

* * *

She left and someone else walked in. Lestrade said hello to Sherlock. "I'm sorry for yelling at you the other day."  _That's okay. You were only looking out for me_. "I was just concerned about you."  _Hey, that's what I just said_. "So I just wanted to apologize, and please ask you to consider consulting again. Scotland Yard is lost without you."  _If only I could_. He left.

* * *

Sherlock heard footsteps again. Who would be visiting him now? Mycroft was far too busy. He didn't expect Mrs. Hudson to trouble herself with visiting him. Oh come on, who is it? "Guess who?" That voice sounded far too familiar. But who was it? "It's me, Moriarty."  _But how did he get past the guards?_  "Don't ask how I got past security."  _As if I could_. "London is so boring without you!"  _I bet it is. I hope to be back soon, but for now, I have to stay here and listen to you_. "Come stop me."  _If only I could_.

* * *

Sherlock felt paralyzed in so many ways. He couldn't move, he couldn't speak, he couldn't think (at least not the way he used to), he couldn't deduce... it was awful.  _Is this what hell is like? Did I die and go to hell?_ He felt a slap. _Nope, not in hell yet._

"Sherlock!" Lestrade yelled. Sherlock tried his muscles.  _Nope. Still not working yet_. He felt someone shake him vigorously.

"Sherlock? It's John again. Wake up for me. You're my best friend, Sherlock. Wake up for me. It's what friends do." He tried desperately to get up. Nothing. Wait, what was that? Molly kissed him. On the lips.  _Well I knew she loved me, but isn't that a bit... oh. She's trying to wake me up. And I'm trying, but I can't_. "Maybe if we all do it together." he heard John say. "One, two, three!" On "three", Sherlock was simultaneously slapped, shaken, and kissed. It was the strangest sensation of his life. It was almost enough, but not quite.

"I need your help." Lestrade said desperately.

"I need you." John added.

"I love you." Molly finished. Then the three of them had an idea. They gave him a hug together. One big hug of appreciation, friendship, and love. That did it. Sherlock was up.

"Did you miss me?"


	22. Chapter 22

"How long have I been asleep?" He thought for a moment. "At least a few days, going by the state of John's clothes." He looked at John again. "Have you stayed with me all this time? You have, haven't you! No wait, you left when other visitors came, but for the most part you stayed by my side. Thank you, John."

"Feeling better?" John said, looking concerned but also surprised at Sherlock's deduction.

"Oh yes. Much better. So how have things fared for the rest of you?" He looked at Lestrade and Molly. "No wait, let me guess." He turned to Lestrade and looked at him closely, and then he spoke. "You've had a rough time with me gone. The police have had an awful time getting anything done without my help. You're mad at me about that, but also very concerned as to my well-being. You haven't had a good night's sleep in weeks. You've been so worried about me that it has affected your entire life: eating, sleeping, getting up out of bed and going to work. Forget Scotland Yard, you need me. You've missed me desperately and are overjoyed that I'm back." He looked at Molly. "You saw me lose my intelligence, and that didn't bother you. You saw me lose my morale, and you got upset. You insisted that I should believe in myself. You made it your job to make me feel better and find meaning in life. When I slipped into a coma, you were terribly afraid. The first thing you did was go home and cry. You never really stopped crying until I woke up. You also bit your nails in nervousness. When you began to worry that I would never wake up, you decided to pull together and tell me something you've been wanting to tell me ever since you met me. We both sort of knew it, but never discussed it. You told me you love me. And you were right; I don't know how to respond. I'm flattered that you find me desirable, but I can't say I reciprocate. Although I can thank you for being a brilliant assistant and apologize for taking you for granted."

 

"How did you know all that?" John asked. Sherlock shrugged.

"I used my Mind Palace." He paused a moment in recognition. "I used my Mind Palace!" A smile beamed across his face. He jumped up on the table. "I used my Mind Palace!"

"Might I ask what's going on here?" a doctor who was walking by asked.

"Doctor, could you please give me an IQ test?" Sherlock asked, stepping down from the table. He took the test. "So, how did I do?"

"Well, I don't quite know what to make of these results, but if I administered the test correctly..."

"Yes?"

"Your score is 182."

"Yes!"

"So you're back to the old Sherlock?" John asked. Sherlock smiled.

"Yes, but I won't be exactly the same. I promise to be less reckless."

"Thank goodness."

"And..."

"And?"

"I promise that I won't be completely cold and unfeeling anymore." Molly smiled. "Don't expect me to be a sappy love god or a blubbering mess, but I won't try to hide my emotions any more."

"Well I'm glad you learned something." John said.

"Ready to get back to work?" Lestrade asked.

"Always."


End file.
